The Demolition Man
by gryps incedio
Summary: Vash the Stampede meets The Terminator. Not a crossover. Care for a bit of action? Rated for language and later violence


_Being a long-time fan of Termy, I just had to! Excuse if there's something I got wrong; I haven't followed that closely. But tell me, so I can fix:) _

_Rated for Language and Death!_

_Don't own Termy, or the Demolition Man phrase. Sorry, I couldn't think of a synonym equivalent that sounded as good. :(_

_Set during the high-time of the war._

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**The Demolition Man **

**Chapter i: Trouble and Havoc**

If he closed his eyes, he could see it. The shimmering rivers and creeks, catching every golden ray of the sun as they cut through the rolling countryside, and into the forests with the great trees that have been since kings and emporers ruled the world. And especially the bounty of the wonderfully sweet oranges and other fruits sold along the roads by local farmers.

And then he opened his eyes, those eyes which at one time were glimmering spheres of auburn curiousity and play, but now were the dull and listless ones of a weary soldier.

Northern California was now as he was, just a shadow of its former self. Many of the rivers and all of the creeks have dried, and nothing over six feet still stood after Jugdement Day. Now all that remained was scrap, piled high into the night. An icy wind blew across him as he surveyed as far as he could, drawing his scrappy grey coat tighter against him. Even with the lantern and light of the full moon glinting upon anything reflective did not do much to improve the man's eyesight.

He hated this place. It was too far from the base for his liking.

This spot was chosen as the clearest vantage to incoming machines; and it was. During the day. In the darkness, soldiers could only use a low-powered lantern, and so the machines have the advantage. Only the heavy armor, like Hunter-Killers, needed spotlights, but those were not the ones to fear. It was the machines' everyday infantry, the Terminators, that truly frightened this man. You could see the heavy armor coming a mile away; Terminators sneak up on people.

The soldier had heard the stories of this watch. No one with something interesting to report would come back. Yet they did manage to light the signal fire and warn their comrades of the impending battle. He knew this was why this place was not, and will not, be abandoned. Despite the risks, this was too tactical a place to leave to the machines.

The soldier heard a distinct and quiet rusling in the mountain of debris behind him. Fear tingled into every inch of his being as numb fingers slowly worked themselves to the safety switch on his plasma rifle. He must have a visual of a machine before lighting the signal; and wait he must.

He heard it again, clearer now, and closer. The frightened man jabbed the butt of the rifle into his right shoulder, bringing his weapon to the ready and sights to his wide eyes, his breath loosing in short pants.

A loud clank echoed through the darkness as if a heavy padded object hit a piece of scrap metal. And a curse. A loud, very explicit curse.

The soldier's brow furrowed in confusion. Machines don't curse...

From the top of the mountain of debris, a smiling and pale face shot up, topped with untidy red curls.

"Hey, Bobby!"

The soldier smiled and disarmed his rifle. "Nicolas, I almost shot you, you dick!" He turned back to his watch, happy to have company in this dangerous place. The other man skidded down the mound of flotsam towards him, toting a lantern. "Bringing me something to eat, or just visiting?"

It always made Bobby laugh to see his friend in uniform. The outfitters tried their best to get everyone a fitting uniform, but Nicolas was too lithe and too tall to accomodate. His pants were five sizes too big, only being held to his body by a thin, overused black leather belt. How his clothing hung off his skin reminded Bobby of a child trying to wear his older brother's things.

Nicolas, still smiling, dusted his gray uniform and flipped his plasma rifle to his back. "Yep." He placed his lantern down, and from a bulging pocket he pulled a lidded tin cup, handing it to Bobby. "And seeing what you're doing."

"I'm just on watch; I don't know why you're so interested," he said as he took the cup. "What's the soup of the day at Fort Bragg tonight?"

"Rat soup."

Bobby sighed. "As usual," he grumbled as he began to drink. Oh, how much he would like to have that dream orange!

Nicolas grinned even wider as he stared at his friend. "Well? Are you going to tell me about him?"

"About who?" Bobby replied between gulps.

Nicolas scoffed. "You know who I'm talking about! That new soldier coming in. The one you are supposed to be looking out for?" He nudged Bobby's shoulder, a sly look on his freckled face. "You know there is nothing in the base that goes on without me knowing about it."

Bobby chuckled to himself. No there wasn't, it seems. "Okay, okay. This new guy on his way is... something else." He gestured for his friend to come closer, as if he was sharing a deep secret. "This guy is said to have been the one who thought up _and _rigged up the explosives that won the Battle of Crescent City!"

Nicolas' blue eyes bugged in astonishment. "You mean that terrible battle where the machines had us by the balls?" Bobby nodded. "He rigged up the bombs that slaughtered them?" Smiling, Bobby nodded. "_And_ he also _planned_ it that way?" Widely grinning, Bobby nodded.

"They say this guy could use anything, _anything_, to kill a machine." Bobby stood, pacing back and forth excitedly as Nicolas sat and hung on every word. "I heard he once took a red _high heel_, poked out a Terminator's eyes, and finished it off by running it over with his Dodge!" Nicolas joined his friend's upright position, thrilled himself. "I also heard he can do anything, like it was nothing. They say he once jumped on top of a Hunter-Killer, surrounded by machines, and took it down with a _plasma rifle_!"

Nicolas stopped Bobby. "I thought onlygrenades could stop a Hunter-Killer."

"Well, he figured out how," the other man remarked. "And that's not it; he is heading here to help us!"

The angular man slapped one of his legs. "Fuck yeah! Probably found out about all the machine activity around Fort Bragg of late," he speculated. "So he's called...-"

He was interrupted by a snort. "-Trouble, from what I hear." Nicolas cocked an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. "They also say he has no respect for his superiors, and if you get too close to him in a fight, you just might suffer the same fate as the machines around him."

"Hm. So, where's he from?"

Bobby shrugged, as he stared into the light of the lanterns. "No one knows. They say he was found on the outskirts of the base in Roseburg, all the way up in Oregon, wearing a worn-out, unmarked uniform. And he doesn't know where he's from, like he's got amnesia or something. The soldiers there patched him up, and he went on his way, leaving a trail of destruction behind him, like a walking disaster! When he's in battle, they say nothing stands, and that's where he gets his nickname."

Nicolas stared in silence at his friend, letting all of what has been said sink in. "What's his nickname?"

He spoke it with reverence and as it if were also the deepest insult. "The Demolition Man."

The two men heard a loud metal bang in the darkness beyond view. Feeling strength in each other's presence, they both armed their rifles and prepared themselves for whatever lay beyond, taking cover behing the same large debris of what once was a car.

Bobby took the initiative. "Who goes?"

A bulky dark figure appeared just as he called. It held its arms above its head in surrender as a smooth baritone voice answered back. "Sorry to spook ya; just kicking a rock."

Not budging from their positions, they called for the man to enter the light of the lantern.

The burly man did as he was told, and as he slowly entered into more light, Bobby and Nicolas could see his short and spiked jet hair, his subdued dark eyes, and his worn-out ashen uniform, deprived of all identifying marks.

Nicolas nudged his friend with his elbow, and whispered to him. "That's him! That's the _Demolition Man_!"

The large soldier, now close enough to hear their conversation, dipped his head and smiled to himself as he announced, "I see my reputation proceeds me. Yes, I am him; but I go by the name Havoc."

They lowered their weapons and stared at him. He was not what they were expecting. Yes he was big, a good six foot five, yet this man seemed pleasant as he regarded them with a small smile. Although his body seemed perfectly fit to tear machines apart with his bear hands, they just couldn't get over his mannerisms; he was almost _shy_.

He interrupted their scrutiny with a loud sigh. "Look, guys, lost my truck to a little skirmish up north and have been walking here nearly _all night_. Could you take me to Fort Bragg now?"

"Oh. Of course."

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_Nice for writing all in one night, huh? Please Review!_


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